


Worlds Apart

by vials



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, James is surprisingly good with upset people, M/M, Q is troubled, misplaced blame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something that Q never lets himself forget is the fact that sometimes, people die on the field. After a particularly rough incident, he and James find themselves struggling to pick up the pieces -- and the reason why is something neither of them expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worlds Apart

Losing someone never got easier.

Q hadn’t been naïve enough to think that he would ever get over it completely. He had known every death would stay with him, and it would just be a matter of learning how to deal with it privately, how to compartmentalise things quicker. He also knew that while he would likely be able to do so quickly with some deaths, others would be more complicated. It was one thing to hear someone get cut off mid-sentence by a well-aimed gunshot. It was quite another to hear them fall or drown or burn.

As always, Q waited until he saw the little dot on his screen vanish, and then he took a steadying breath and said the words that even now still got stuck in his throat.

“Agent down.” He allowed the words to linger for just a half second – the longest moment of remembrance they could afford – and then he continued on. “007, carry on as instructed.”

James got back in one piece, thankfully, even if the equipment didn’t. Q should have realised that something was wrong when he didn’t even have the energy to chew James out for it; even James looked slightly surprised. He didn’t seem overly bothered by his colleague’s death, but Q wasn’t shocked. The agents were a different breed. Sometimes he envied them.

Things went on as normal, or as normal as they could go, considering the workloads Q was putting in and James’s tendency to have to vanish off at a moment’s notice. Q thought something felt off between them, forced, almost, but he didn’t have the energy to worry about it and he assumed it would blow over eventually. Sometimes things were odd when James got back from the field. He might deal with things differently, but he did deal with them – his silence didn’t mean that he was unaffected. Q had come to expect some anomalies in their relationship after a particularly rough mission, and he didn’t think that either one of them would forget those screams in a hurry.

Gradually, reluctantly, Q realised it was him. _He_ was the odd one. He wasn’t sure what it was that tipped him off – perhaps the fact that things felt so odd at work as well as at home – but he realised it all the same. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake it. Everything seemed distant, like it wasn’t real. He found himself connecting to the comms with a sense of dread in his chest that was like a physical weight. Every single time something came close to going wrong, Q would feel his breath squeezed off, his heart frantic, his knuckles white where he gripped the desk in an attempt to remain upright.

It would pass, though. It would always pass. He would just have to give it time.

It was James who let him know otherwise, a week later and in his usual blunt fashion. He was in bed and Q was sitting at his desk, tapping away, expecting James to fall asleep long before he was even thinking about turning in himself. He heard James roll over and assumed he was just getting comfortable, so he was surprised to hear him speak.

“You’re angry with me,” he said, in that tone that let Q know it was a statement rather than a question. Q stilled his fingers, staring at the screen.

“I’m not angry.”

He could hear how stiff his voice sounded.

“Ever since we lost Olsen, you’ve been angry,” James said. His voice was gentle rather than accusing, but still firm in the way that told Q that they were absolutely having this conversation, whether Q liked it or not. For some reason, Q felt his eyes beginning to burn with tears.

“I’m not angry,” he repeated. It was all he could think of to say. The rest of his brain seemed to be idling.

“You know that there was no other option, don’t you?” James asked, and Q struggled to take a steadying breath without letting James know he needed one. “I didn’t want to have him die like that. If I’d had the chance I would have at least shot him. But it happened too quickly.”

Q concentrated on his breathing. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about the noise, the chaos, that _screaming_ –

“Q?” James asked, concerned now, and Q realised it was obvious he was crying.

“It’s fine,” he said hurriedly, his voice thick with tears. “James, I’m not angry. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand why you might see me as being to blame,” James told him. “But I’m telling you there was no other way. You know I wouldn’t ever do something like that unless there was no other option, but the way you’ve been avoiding me so much lately –”

“This isn’t about you!” Q said, startling himself with how sudden and loud the words were. He could barely breathe; he spun the chair around to look at James, seeing him sit up slightly at the movement. “I don’t blame you, James! I know it wasn’t your fault! This has nothing to do with you!” He took several more deep breaths, trying to force the words out. “It’s me! I blame _me_!”

Now he had finally said the words, he had no choice but to acknowledge them. The guilt he had only just been keeping at bay finally hit him with full force; Q thought he would collapse under the weight of it. He heard himself sobbing, his breaths gasping and uneven, but he barely felt as though he were there at all until he realised James had crossed the room and pulled him from the chair, sinking down onto the carpet with him bundled into his lap. Q turned his face against James’ chest and clung to him, desperately trying to control his breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, as soon as he had the air. “I’ve been such an _arse_ to you and you were the one who was there – who had to see it. I can’t believe I’m being so selfish.”

“It’s different,” James murmured. He was stroking Q’s hair – something that was miraculously managing to calm Q down.

“Still,” Q sniffed. He felt on the verge of hiccups.

“You’re not to blame, Q,” James said gently, and Q squeezed his eyes closed, determined not to start crying again. “Sometimes things go wrong. Sometimes there isn’t time to react. Sometimes people die. You know this. You’ve come through it before.”

“Not like that,” Q said, sighing. “Not so…”

He couldn’t find the words to describe it. Thankfully, James didn’t try to supply them. Q got the feeling that neither of them would ever be able to describe it.

“It happens,” James said eventually. “It doesn’t get easier, but you can’t dwell on every single person that’s lost. Not when it was unavoidable. You made no mistakes. You did everything you could. Sometimes it isn’t enough. That isn’t on you.”

“I should have suspected something,” Q said. “I should have sent you through a different route, or double checked, or –”

“You had no reason to,” James said firmly.

“But I –”

“ _You had no reason to_ ,” James said again. “Christ, Q, if we all had psychic abilities there would be no need for MI6 in the first place.”

Q managed a shaky laugh.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said, after a moment. “I feel wretched knowing you thought I was.”

“Well, I don’t feel so great over not knowing what was really bothering you,” James said, brushing some of Q’s hair off his forehead. “I should have known, really. You’ve got a bit of a bleeding heart sometimes.”

“Is that a bad thing, do you think?” Q asked. “In this job?”

“I think it’s refreshing,” James said, smiling. “But you do need to keep it in check.”

Q nodded, shifting closer and tightening his grip on James. He still felt shaky, but at least he could breathe now.

“I hope I’m not squishing you,” he mumbled, after a few minutes had passed in silence.

“I don’t think you could squish me if you tried,” James said.

Q smiled against him, blinking some of the dampness from his eyelashes and then closing his eyes again. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have done, because when he woke up he was in bed, curled against James. He felt some of the tightness beginning to squeeze at his chest, but instead of squirming away to go and bury himself in work, he listened to James’s breathing and followed his breaths with his own. Gradually, the tightness loosened.


End file.
